Doc's Assistant
by HolmesHarleyWatson
Summary: Al Swearenger's Niece was trouble before she even rode into town. The product of an inter-racial marriage between his Brother and a Sioux Indian woman, Wakiyela (Dove) is thrust into Doc's care as Al refuses to care for the young woman after his Brother's demise. Will Doc learn to share his living space after being a bachelor for his entire adult life? Doc/OC pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Hey guys! I'm back again with another Brad Dourif themed fic! I really REALLY love Doc Cochran from the Deadwood Series! I love historical settings and somehow, our darling Mr. Dourif fits right in! This fic (like all of my others) is Alternate Universe/Canon Divergent with one of my created OC's starring as Doc's leading lady (and she's not a prostitute or Jewel for a change!) I just wanted to play with something different **

**TRIGGER WARNINGS: This fic will be true to the show; meaning that there will be sex, gun violence, knife violence, off-color slurs regarding Native Americans/Indigenous People. I myself am Lakota/Apache/Coahuiltecan ancestry; and while it was difficult to listen to some of the slurs on the show, I thought that it was important for historical accuracy. Also, the main pairing is a racially mixed couple (Doc Cochran with my half Native American, half Caucasian OC) IF YOU DON'T LIKE ANY OF THIS, DON'T READ! Also, there is a big age gap between the two! Don't flame me, just don't read if this makes you squeamish or uncomfortable. I like older men! I can't help it! Especially when they're Brad Dourif-shaped **

**Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening **

Dr. Amos Cochran tossed and turned in his sleep as the blood and gore of the Civil War drifted into his dreams; the bloodied stumps of limbs that he had had to sever and the screams that accompanied surgeries without anesthesia haunting him as they did nearly every night. Young men crying out, begging him to just kill them as he mercilessly sawed through flesh and bone in an attempt to preserve life; but at what cost? Many of them- really only _boys _who had lied about their damned age to be conscripted- died under his care, slipping through his fingers like wisps of smoke.

So it was, when he had startled awake in the wee hours of the morning before the light of day, before the cock crowed to rouse the rest of the camp; the Doctor lay shivering in a cold sweat. He had _tried _Goddamn it, he had tried to put the wretched war behind him and bury himself in the care of the prospectors and drunkards and whores, but to no avail.

The fucking war just refused to leave him.

He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, the orange glow of a dying fire the only light in the room reflecting back at him dully as he entertained the idea of just getting his ass out of bed and guzzling down as much coffee as his stomach and bladder would safely allow before some poor fuck knocked on his door with a bullet wound or knife wound or burns or whatever doom and gloom had assailed them during the night.

Doc swung his legs over the edge of the bed wearily and rubbed his eyes, his hand clumsily crab walking along his night table in search of his spectacles. His shoulder-length sandy-colored hair was in fluffy disarray, a tenement to his night of restless slumber as he shoved his feet into worn slippers that had seen many a sleepy morning with him and trudged to his small kitchen to put on the kettle.

He recalled Al Swearengen's advice to him on his last visit to The Gem to see to the girls;

"Get a fuckin maid, Doc. Don't act like you can't afford it with what I'm paying you per week alone! You look like shit! You look like a man that hasn't seen a good pair of tits and a good piece of pussy outside of his rounds in years." Had been Al Swearengen's advice.

Al, who fucked as much snatch as he sold.

"Don't fuckin tell me what to do, Al. Get a maid? Really? The only women in this godforsaken camp that aren't working for you are housewives or old bitties. Where the fuck do you suggest I find a maid? What the fuck would I do with her after she made breakfast and I had to shuffle my ass around here from dawn until dusk?" Doc had scoffed, feeling a headache coming on as one of the drug addicted whores claimed falsely to be taking a flame to her needle before every use, which Doc knew to be bullshit.

"These punctures are getting infected again; and the only way it happens is when you're careless with your needle. Stop trying to pull one over on me and just start taking better care of your habit." He bit out in frustration as he cleansed her arms again and gave her some medicine.

"They have mail order ones now you know," Al replied; still pressing him about the fuckin maid.

"One of these days when I'm good and fuckin fed up, I'll go searching for one and not bother coming back to this shithole." Doc muttered with a sigh.

So had been the riveting conversation he'd been offered last week.

The knocking at the door had come earlier than he had expected, but it had come all the same. There were nights when Doc wouldn't even bother changing into pajamas because he knew that he'd be roused at one ungodly hour or the other. He had become accustomed to cleaning blood from his wooden floors so often that he had at some point stopped fighting against the permanent burgundy hue that now graced it. It was a good thing that Doc had never been a superstitious man, because there were so many that had succumbed to their demise under his roof that he would have surely believed his house would've been haunted by now.

The knocking that came was as persistent as it was authoritative, and he had a sneaking suspicion that something unsavory had gone down at The Gem as he slept.

He was thoroughly bewildered by the sight of a small young woman on his doorstep propped against none other than Al Swearengen himself.

"What happened?" Doc asked as he grabbed his medical bag and led Al inside, slamming the door closed on the chilled morning air quickly.

"She was shot coming into town, fell from the wagon. I think that her leg was injured in the fall," Al panted as he lay her on the medical cot in Doc's living room.

"Have a seat and catch your breath. Help yourself to coffee if you want," Doc replied, bewildered.

Al Swearengen was a mean, conniving, and ornery bastard at the best of times; and he usually never gave two licks and shit about anyone else besides himself.

"Shot in the shoulder, but it looks pretty clean. Should be fine once I get the bullet out, what's your name dear?" He asked her as her eyes fluttered and she fought to remain conscious.

"Wakiyela…Dove Swearengen," She murmured brokenly.

"She's my Niece goddammit, just get to work on her!" Al hissed, banging his fist on the table and rattling the bottles and vials that Doc had lined up in neat little rows.

"Lemuel's daughter?!" Doc exclaimed, cutting her blouse and corset open in one smooth and practiced motion as Al had the decency to look away.

"Lem's dead. Shot clean through the fuckin head practically before my eyes! My only Brother," Al had his face in his hands as Doc worked, drawing up just enough laudanum to put the woman under.

"Take it easy, Al. It's not gonna do her any good for you to be so distressed," He admonished, laying out his scalpel and his smaller pair of forceps, along with plenty of gauze bandages and his suture kit.

Al carded his fingers through his dark hair anxiously, ending with his head in his hands.

"Any particular reason why they ambushed the wagon?" Doc asked as he worked, carefully maneuvering the embedded bullet out of the wound so as to not disturb the already contused flesh.

"You knew Lemmy! Look at her! She's half fuckin Sioux! Lemmy just had to marry that goddamn savage didn't he? Couldn't just fuck her on the side like anyone else would do with a piece of strange, could he? This is his goddamn fault, Amos! I've fucked all kinds, but I never impregnated a goddamn one!" Al raged, dislodging a few of Doc's slimmer medical books from their place as he paced, unable to remain still any longer.

"I hadn't really stayed in touch with Lemmy after the war. I knew he had gotten married, I just never realized that he had married an Indian woman after he settled down to practice medicine." Doc confessed.

In hindsight, he had avoided all of his old medical friends and acquaintances in a desperate attempt to forget the horrors he had seen.

"His unreasonable attachment to that woman hurt the hell out of his practice. I thought that after she died a few years ago, he might finally be able to pick up the pieces; maybe even move to a new town where people didn't _know." _Al sighed, making Doc flinch.

Bigotry of any kind had never sat well with him.

"At least she still has you," Doc murmured as he began to suture her shoulder.

"Me? She…. She can't stay with me Doc," Al replied adamantly.

Doc nearly lost the knot he was tying in the catgut as he fumbled in shock.

"What do you mean? You're the only family she has left! Where the hell is she supposed to go?" He asked in disbelief.

Al stared blankly ahead in silence while the minutes stretched on and Doc finished up her sutures. It wasn't until he was carefully removing her shoe to examine her lower leg and foot that Al leapt to his feet with Eureka written across his face in triumph.

"Al, either sit your ass down or get back to The Gem. I can't work with you hopping around and pacing like a damn wildcat while I try to set this girls leg." Doc growled in frustration.

"I'll be going Amos. I'll leave you with your new Maid," Al replied as though the matter was settled.

"My new _what?! _Oh no. Nope. I can't keep her here!" Doc exclaimed wide-eyed.

"What'll you do Doc? Toss an injured and defenseless half-savage out on the street?" Al asked deviously.

"You son of a bitch! You can't be fuckin serious!" Doc seethed, but inwardly; he knew that he was.

The young woman's parents were dead, and she was unmarried; with no one to claim her and no one to help her, she had very few options that didn't involve selling herself in the nearest brothel that would have her.

Doc couldn't just turn her out when she recovered with nowhere to go. He at least owed it to Lemmy to help his daughter now, especially since Lemmy's letters and invitations for visits had gone unanswered all of these years in Doc's desperate attempt to escape the war.

Al left without another word, already secure in the knowledge that Doc would do exactly as he had said.


	2. Chapter 2: Awake and Settling In

**Chapter 2: Awake and Settling In.**

She knew no semblance of time as she slept, nor a semblance of space or being as one dream or memory collided with another. There seemed to be a man's gentle voice from time to time; sometimes he would speak to her softly about inconsequential things that she would listen to, but soon forget in her haze of confusion and displacement. She wondered where her Father was and if they had reached Deadwood yet and why she just couldn't seem to awaken.

More than once, she felt hands on her accompanied by the gentle voice; they caused her shoulder and leg to hurt, and she tried valiantly to use the gentle voice as a distraction. Sometimes, she tried to concentrate on opening her eyes, but to no avail as she lay motionless on something soft and warm.

To Doc's surprise, Al had come by to check on his Niece once a day and had ordered Doc to send word immediately if there were any changes for the worst. He hovered awkwardly near the bed now as Doc checked her vital signs once more and frowned down at her solicitously when he felt an uptick in her respirations and temperature.

"Thought you didn't give a shit about her," Doc muttered irritably. He'd had a busy fucking day and his wasn't in the mood for Al and his shit.

"I never said that I didn't give a shit; I said she couldn't stay with me, and there's no other reputable situation for her and you need a fuckin maid." Al replied in his gruff monotone that brooked no argument.

He had had a shitty day too.

"She's got a low-grade fever, but nothing serious." Doc reported with a sigh, moving towards his kettle and a cup of tea.

"Should have a little something stronger than that," Al replied, pulling a flask and offering it to Doc first.

"Thanks Al, but I'll pass. I've got a few bottles of the devils piss if I'm so inclined." Doc said as he put his feet up on an automan.

Al helped himself to a dropper of laudanum and sat in the chair adjacent. Doc could tell that there was something more on his mind, but he was taking his goddamned time to say it as he stared off into the fireplace.

"Had to bury Lemmy today; couldn't keep him out of the ground any longer. Fuckin wolves," Al told him, taking a long swig from his flask and flinching at the burn.

Doc nodded thoughtfully as he cast around for something to focus his mind on other than how bone-tired he was. His gaze fell upon Wakiyela Swearengen as she slept, and he suddenly envied her near-comatose sense of repose.

"That savage name; Wakiyela, I never used it. I wanted to call her Katie after our Mother, but Lemmy and that woman of his wouldn't hear of it. Closest she has to a proper white name is it's English translation; Dove. Goddamned Niece is named after a fuckin bird." Al grumbled, taking another swig from the flask.

"Could be worse. I've heard from the Sioux that some of those translations can get a bit out of hand. I treated a woman once just after the war and her name loosely translated to 'She has large breasts'. Needless to say, I kept to their language while treating her." Doc chuckled.

"Did she?" Al asked curiously.

"Did she what?" He asked with a frown.

"Have large breasts?" Al asked as though Doc were a bit thick.

He promptly choked on his tea as his eyes widened with shock.

"I..I don't recall," He wheezed, struggling to compose himself as Al roared with laughter.

"Don't be so modest Doc," He guffawed as Doc's face reddened even further.

"To be honest, I keep pretty mentally detached from the people I treat aesthetically," Doc confessed.

"I guess that you'd have to with all the whores you look after. You've yet to ask for a poke with any of them," Al replied.

Doc cleared his throat uncomfortably, keeping his eye on his patient for fear that Al's raucous laughter would wake her.

"So anyhow, you're to call her Dove in public especially no matter what she says. The girl was very attached to her savage heritage according to Lemmy; although why the hell he ever allowed that woman and his daughter to maintain contact with their tribe is beyond me. It's almost as though he was wanting a fuckin full on stroke sooner rather than later. I got trunks of her fuckin belongings that I'm afraid to bring you… should probably burn them." Al mused; frustration clear in his features as his eyes hardened.

"No, don't do that. Bring her things here and I'll take responsibility for her; she's already lost her Father, which is stressful enough without you completely wiping out the rest of her identity." Doc replied harshly, growing impatient with Al's sense of cruelty.

"Fine. I'll have Johnny drop them off tomorrow. I think that it's best she not see me right away when she regains consciousness; Lemmy and I were twins after all. Might give her a bit of a turn," Al shrugged, giving Doc pause.

"It's easy to tell the difference between you and Lemmy," He blurted with a frown.

"Is it now? I would've never thought," Al said off-handedly.

"Something about the eyes," Doc muttered, a clear memory of the warmth Lemmy had exuded in life compared to Al's barely concealed cruelty and greed.

Al stood slowly and a bit unsteadily, making Doc wonder just how strong the hooch in his flask was. He pulled a large leather pouch from his jacket pocket and plunked it heavily onto Doc's table.

"I don't need you to pay me for taking care of Lemmy's daughter; he was a very dear friend of mine during the war…. We just lost touch after," Doc said regretfully.

"Just shut up and take the gold. She's going to need plenty of care and medicine; not to mention whatever she might need when she wakes up. My Brother would've wanted her cared for… I want her cared for as well. I might be a bastard, but I'm not a fucking bastard." Al said, swaying where he stood.

Doc held his shoulders to steady him and observed some raw emotion cross Al's face in the semi-darkness of the cabin as he made his way to the door and out into the night.

True to his word, Johnny had shown up the next day with a few trunks and Lemmy's leather doctor's bag in tow on a wooden skid.

Johnny helped Doc carry everything inside, pausing at the curtained partition that Doc had placed around Wakiyela's bed to give her some semblance of privacy when people came bursting into his cabin.

"Is that savage girl behind there?" Johnny whispered wide-eyed.

"That's Al's Niece behind there," Doc corrected him, reminding him subtly of her connection to his boss.

Johnny shuddered slightly and shook his head.

"A wonder you can sleep at night with her under your roof, Doc. I wouldn't be able to do it, I'd be afraid that she'd slit my throat in the middle of the night," He confessed, causing Doc to sigh impatiently.

"I'd think that you would be afraid of that as it is living with Al as you do. If anyone would be liable to slit any throats, I'd bet my last dollar that your boss would be the one," He countered impatiently, shooing Johnny towards the door.

When Johnny had gone, Doc neatly arranged the trunks and the Doctoring bag along one wall close to the partition and continued taking an inventory of the herbs and barks he had in stock, making a list of things that he was low on.

Wakiyela stirred behind the partition, frowning at her unfamiliar surroundings as she sat up slowly with a groan of pain as her leg and shoulder both gave sharp throbs of protest at her movements.

Doc came around the curtain slowly so as not to frighten his patient, his own leather doctor's satchel in hand.

"You probably don't want to be making many sudden movements at the moment, just lay back and get your bearings for now." He told her, easing her back onto her pillows and taking a seat on the stool at her bedside.

"Are you Amos Cochran?" She asked suddenly, taking in the sight of the curtained partition and his medical bag.

"That's me," Doc replied with a surprised smile.

"Father spoke of you so often. He said that you were the only doctor here," She replied, a forlorn glint I her eyes as Doc examined her leg for swelling or bruising before removing the splint and attaching an odd-looking brace to it.

Wakiyela winced and gasped as a twinge of pain ran up both sides of her ankle.

"I know it's uncomfortable now, but you'll thank me later when you're able to walk again. There's extensive damage to that foot and ankle because of the way you came down on it when you fell from the wagon," Doc explained as she braced herself up and glared down at the appendage.

"Father pushed me out of the wagon when the shooting began… that was just before….. before he died," She murmured softly, the image of the bullet striking her father in the temple etched into her memory now that she was awake.

Doc sighed regretfully.

"Your Father was a very good man. He…. He helped me during the war. I don't think that I could have ever repaid him for what he did for me. He was a brilliant doctor and an amazing friend," He told her sincerely, making her smile sadly.

"Did my Uncle….. did he bury him?" She asked with difficulty, a lump raising in her throat.

"Yes. The cemetery here is on a bit of rough terrain, it'll be quite a while before you'll be able to go up there and pay your respects I'm afraid," He replied softly, offering her a handkerchief to dry her eyes.

"Thank you," She sniffed, wincing when she felt the stitches in her shoulder give an uncomfortable tug.

"Those will be in for another week or so," Doc said as he handed her a glass of water to sip slowly.

"How long have I been here?" She asked suddenly, looking around the cabin as though the answer might spring from one of Doc's bookshelves.

"It's been nearly two weeks now, but that's to be expected considering the trauma from the fall and the surgery to remove the bullet from your shoulder. I've been trying to keep you as still as possible, so I've been keeping you on a regimen of laudanum temporarily. It's very important that you get plenty of rest for the time being." He explained, but she nodded along as though she already knew what proper healing protocol was in this instance.

"I understand. I'm so sorry for keeping you so preoccupied, I'm sure that you have other patients. Hopefully I can be moved to my Uncle's soon," She sighed, causing Doc to wince slightly.

"Dove, how much do you know about your Uncle? And the sort of business he runs?" Doc asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Father said that he owns a Saloon here," She replied cluelessly.

Doc sighed and snapped his medical bag closed.

"It's partly a saloon of sorts… yes. However, there are… other things that your Uncle deals in that wouldn't really be conductive to….. that is to say….Your Uncle lives on the premises of his Saloon, and you wouldn't be able to reside there safely. Al and I were discussing an arrangement for you to stay here, but that's hardly something that you need to worry yourself about now. For now, you just need to rest and heal." Doc said as delicately as he could.

"What kind of arrangement?" She asked guardedly, stiffening slightly.

"Well…..simple things, really. I _am _the only doctor here in Deadwood, and I have been in need of an assistant of sorts here at home. Someone who could cook meals and keep things tidy, I also need help keeping up with the inventory of herbs, medicines, tinctures, that sort of thing. Of course I would offer you a stipend, as well as room and board." He replied, relieved when he saw her posture relax considerably.

"I used to assist my Father with the same tasks, so I'm sure that I could perform them adequately enough. I've studied medicine under my Father's tutelage, as well as under the Shamans of my tribe; though I would advise you not to mention that I'm assisting you at all to your Patients, or you'll lose at least half of your practice." Dove sighed.

"Well, as to that we have something of an advantage; I am the only Doctor here in Deadwood. People can't exactly seek treatment elsewhere, whether they like it or not." Doc replied reassuringly.

"Yes, you have the advantage there. For now," She replied as she laid back once more, the small conversation already exhausting her as the laudanum-laced water he had given her began to work it's magic.

"Just rest for now," He repeated, pulling the blanket over her as her eyelids grew heavy.

"I'll need a crutch," She muttered as she drifted off.

Doc remained at her side until her breathing became a slow and steady rhythm before returning to the task of listing his semi-depleting inventory and thinking about the size of the order he was going to have to purchase from the apothecary in Spearfish; the larger town over.

The next day, Doc found himself being pulled away from home fairly early; there had been a minor gunfight and brawl at The Gem during the night and there were several people wounded and one of the newer prospectors were dead.

He had scribbled a hurried note to Dove and left a sturdy crutch at her bedside before rushing off to aid the perpetually injured clientele of The Gem.

Dove awoke later that morning with a parched throat and an aching need for fresh air, though she wasn't entirely sure that she would even be able to rise from the bed.

Beside her on a small table, Doc had left a pitcher of water and a glass, as well as a small bottle of laudanum, and a small basin and towels in case she wanted to freshen up.

She carefully sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the cot, getting her bearings before taking the crutch and standing slowly, testing exactly how much weight her leg could withstand between the brace and crutch before hobbling awkwardly out from behind the partition and over to one of her chests that Doc had stacked neatly against the wall.

Dove rummaged awkwardly for a moment with her free hand before she pulled out a simpler cotton dress and underclothes and limped painfully back to the cot to rest for a moment before she poured herself a glass of water to drink. The bottle of laudanum was tempting due to the amount of pain she was in, but she ignored it for the moment as she washed and dressed while sitting on the edge of the cot.

In the note that Doc had left for her, he had quickly explained that he had been called away to her Uncle's saloon due to a large brawl and to make herself at home while he was away. He also said (needlessly) that he thought that it would be safer if she remained indoors due to the fact that the camp wasn't entirely safe for her until her Uncle established her identity for everyone, not to mention her handicap at the moment.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the pain as she stood and quickly maneuvered the crutch to catch the majority of her weight, but Dove quickly overbalanced in the small space, catching herself on Doc's stool and gasping when she found it to be wheeled of all things.

She righted herself on the stool before kneeling her injured leg on it and using the crutch to steer herself out into the living room. It took a few practice laps before she was more confident that she wasn't going to tip over with every sudden move she made; eternally grateful that Doc wasn't a fan of rugs.

As Dove cast her gaze around, she noted a few signs of clutter in the form of a small stack of medical texts here, a jacket hung over a chair there, and a few hastily shelved jars and vials of medicines. A fine layer of dust had attached itself to most of the items on Doc's shelves, which she decided to attend to first while water boiled in the kettle for tea.

She busied herself cleaning and straightening so much that the morning quickly passed into the afternoon before she felt a pang of hunger and rolled herself over to the larder to retrieve bread and jam to eat with her umpteenth cup of tea, (she was on her second pot). She startled slightly when there was a knock on the door and a friendly enough looking face peered into the window and smiled before he turned the key in the lock and entered slowly; keys in one hand and a bible in the other.

"Afternoon Miss. My name is Reverend Smith, or Henry if you like. Doc sent me by to check on your well-being, but I see you've gotten on well?" He asked, his voice was slightly tremulous as he gave another friendly smile and glanced around at her handiwork.

"Good afternoon Reverend, yes I've gotten on fine here. How is Doc managing?" She asked curiously, gesturing for him to sit.

"Tea?" She offered and he nodded gratefully.

"Doc has been detained later than he expected with a surgery. G-g-gunshot wounds," He stammered gravely.

"I thought as much when he mentioned my Uncle's saloon. A place of some ill-repute?" Dove asked as she remembered the way that Doc hesitated in his description to her previously.

"Yes Miss. Not a place for decent folk," He agreed, his gaze dropping to the bible in his hand.

"You have a congregation here in the camp then?" She asked, changing the subject for the poor Reverends sake.

"A very small one Miss. You attend services?" He asked hopefully.

Dove bit her bottom lip in hesitation.

"It's been known to happen. I usually worship in nature if truth were to be told; I feel The Great Spirits presence there in the sunshine more often than not." She confessed uneasily.

She had often been criticized by such beliefs in the past back home.

"Oh! Then perhaps you'll attend? I hold sermons outdoors spring and summer months; weather permitting of course. Nature being Gods creation and his not yet providing a permanent church as of yet," Reverend Smith said congenially.

Dove smiled at him in return, more at ease when she realized that she was not dealing with a conventional reverend.

"That would be lovely, permitting my leg is healed by then." She replied with a sigh. She definitely couldn't take Doc's stool rolling down the dirt path of the camps high street.

She probably couldn't leave his cabin at all without being shot at, or worse….

"Given time and patience, your situation should improve here markedly; especially if your Uncle would have anything to say about it," He assured her, as though reading her mind.

"I'm sure that it will," Dove replied with a nod and a kind smile, but inwardly she felt a nervous twinge at the prospect of being shuttered in Doc's cabin like a prisoner for her own safety.

The Reverend Smith took his leave of her then after she assured him that she could manage on her own until Doc's return.

"Tell him I'll have his supper waiting on him when he returns," She assured as he bolted the door behind himself once again and ambled away in the direction of The Gem.

Wanting Doc to not doubt that she could indeed keep up her end of their arrangement, she disappeared into the larder once again; gathering potatoes, carrots, celery, a good chunk of cured ham, and dried peas and taking her ingredients to his tiny kitchen fire to make a soup.

Meanwhile at The Gem, Doc was seconds from throttling Al; Hippocratic Oath be damned.

"I told you to keep off of that leg! What the fuck are you doin' in here anyways?!" He asked irritably over his shoulder.

"Don't tell me what to do in my own fuckin establishment," Al replied stubbornly, swaying slightly where he stood from a combination of pain, loss of blood, and whiskey.

Doc ignored him as he continued to attempt to repair the damage done by the bullet to Trixie's abdomen, but the blood loss had been great and wounds to the abdomen were nearly always fatal; though Doc wasn't going to remind Al of any of that.

He shook his head as he extricated the final piece of lead from her tissue and began the arduous procedure of closing her up.

"What say you of my best whore? Is she gonna make it?" Al demanded, and without turning to face him, Doc knew that he was concealing genuine concern.

Some part of the fiendishly violent Al Swearengen cared for Trixie, after all Trixie was the only whore that Al repeatedly fucked on a regular basis, which was as close to affection as he was capable of in Doc's opinion.

"She's a strong girl. As long as the wound doesn't fester and she's allowed adequate amounts of rest and time to heal, she should recover. The bullet didn't hit any vital organs, so she was lucky." Doc replied honestly, though he still had his doubts about her indefinite recovery.

Al stumbled into the room further, shutting the door clumsily and falling into a chair in the corner.

"Can't lose Trixie right after Lemmy. What about Dove? Someone could slit her fuckin throat while you're here," He rambled off half crazed, another sip from the bottle; eyes glazed with a manic-drunken haze.

"Reverend Smith went to my house to check on Dove, and the fact that he hasn't run back here with a foul report of some sort puts my mind at ease considerably. I believe that she's on the mend considerably, which is more than I can say about you and that bullet wound to the leg. If you're up on it constantly and putting pressure on it, it ain't gonna close. It'll fester and turn gangrenous and it'll be an amputation for you and a fuckin peg leg if you survive it, understand?" Doc asked pointedly, watching as Al put the bottle on the floor and his head in his hands.

A knock on the door startled Al back into the present and Doc covered his patient for modesty's sake as he called for the person to enter.

The Reverend Smith entered quickly with Dan Dority at his heels as though he were afraid the holy man would taint something with his very presence in the seedy establishment.

"Miss Swearengen fairs well to be sure Amos," He reported, clutching at his bible anxiously and keeping his eyes averted from Trixie's prone form beneath the sheet.

"Was she awake?" Doc asked, uncovering Trixie's abdomen enough to finish suturing.

"Yes. Awake and industrious; you won't recognize the cabin when you get home, has everything dusted and rearranged for you." He assured him, causing Doc to nearly drop the spool of catgut he'd been working with.

"What?! I told you to tell her not to put any unnecessary weight on that leg! Like Uncle, like Niece I suppose." Doc grumbled with a sigh.

"She wasn't putting any weight on it at all. She has her injured leg kneeled on your stool and she's wheeling herself around the cabin like half a locomotive," Reverend Smith chuckled.

"Well at least the Niece has better since than the Uncle then," Doc amended, looking relieved.

"She's told me to tell you that she'll have your supper waiting on you when you get home." He said, causing Dan to choke on the shot of whiskey he was taking from Al's bottle.

"Fuckin poison to be sure," he warned Doc with wide eyes.

"Oh for fuck's sake Dan. If it ain't Johnny warning me that she'll slit my throat in the night while I sleep, it's you saying she'll poison me. Fuckin moron's, the both of you." Doc hissed, cutting a large thick dressing to size for Trixie's wound.

"The fuck you saying about my Niece, Dority?" Al menaced in a dangerously low tone.

Dan's eyes widened considerably, and he backed away from his boss cautiously, trying to put Rev. Smith between them; though he wasn't entirely sure that Al wouldn't go through the clergyman to get to him anyhow if he wanted to.

"N-n-nothin' boss… it's just, she is a redskin after all, ain't she?" He reasoned.

Doc's eyes widened and he scooted his stool out of the way just in time as Al made a mad lunge passed Rev. Smith, grabbing Dan by the collar and delivering blow after blow to his face and head until Dan was a weeping, cowering mass on the floor and Al's knuckles were busted and bloody.

"Johnny!" Al bellowed out the door as Reverend Smith scurried through it and down the stairs, taking the beating as his cue to flee.

Johnny Burns nearly collided with Smith on the stairs as he raced to his boss' side, giving a surprised wail as Al grabbed him by the throat and punched him in the face, breaking his nose for the dozenth time.

"Get this piece of shit outta Trixie's room, and if I ever hear of you making disparaging remarks about my Niece again, I'll hang your balls in the entryway along with his. Understand?" Al barked, shoving Johnny towards a semi-conscious Dan Dority.

"But Boss, I didn't-

"You calling Doc a liar now too? Do what the fuck I tell you to, before I feed you to Wu's pigs myself." He interrupted, slamming the door behind both of his men as Johnny half carried Dan out.

"A mans work is never finished," Al sighed, pouring whiskey over the knuckles of both hands before he reseated himself in the corner.

Doc sighed dejected as he eyeballed Al's bloodied hands as well as the bandage around his leg; which was also soaked through once again.

"You don't say," He replied sarcastically, finishing Trixie off in time to return to Al's injuries.

By the time Doc stepped back out into the road it was dusk and the setting sun was painting the sky purple, pink, and orange.

His medical bag felt five times heavier than it usually did as he trekked down the camps high street, glad to put The Gem behind him for the time being until he had to return to check on Trixie's condition; wondering if Dan and Johnny would still be breathing when he did.

Al was in a foul fuckin mood.

Doc fumbled for his keys when he arrived at his door, but Dove unlocked it for him and stepped back on her good leg; the injured appendage propped behind her as she partially knelt on the stool just as Rev. Smith had described.

"Evening Dove," He greeted, removing his hat and hanging it and his coat on the rack behind the door.

"Evening Dr. Cochran," She replied, slowly returning to the table, which was already set for dinner.

"Doc or Amos should suffice just fine, we are going to be in close enough quarters here to just avoid the formalities, yes?" He asked, waiting for her to sit before he sat himself across from her.

"Yes I agree. How was your call to The Gem? Were there many people hurt?" She asked as she ladled soup into his bowl and unwrapped a freshly baked loaf of bread from a kitchen towel.

"Not many thank goodness, your Uncle has taken a minor bullet wound to his calf; but he should be fine. He's seen much worse in the past," Doc replied, pouring himself a good measure of ale he had brought along from Al's.

"He seems like a man of quite a few enemies, that's always the way that Father described Uncle Al, anyhow." Dove said thoughtfully.

"He wasn't overexaggerating there, Al has more that respect him out of fear than love, that's for sure. Trixie was the worse off for diving in front of him last night when the shooting started." He said as he dug into the delicious smelling soup and groaned in delight at the taste.

"This is amazing," He complimented, causing Dove to blush.

"Thank you, but I can't really take the credit. It was my Mother's recipe," She confessed with a fond smile.

"Well she was quite a cook then. It's been a very long time since I've enjoyed something homecooked, I'm not very skilled in the kitchen." Doc said with a shrug.

"A fine thing it is that I came along to save you from poisoning yourself then," She joked, cutting them each a good portion of bread.

"Indeed," He agreed with a chuckle.

"So this Trixie, was she alright? Is she an employee of Al's?" Dove asked curiously.

Doc cleared his throat uncomfortably and nodded.

"She was hit in the abdomen, but no major organs were struck luckily enough. The bullet was more like buckshot if I ever seen it, the way it broke apart into smaller bits on impact. I was able to remove all of it, but it did take some time and effort. I will have to monitor her condition closely though as you can imagine," He replied, avoiding the topic of exactly _how _she was employed at The Gem.

"Will he be short-handed without her? From what Reverend Smith said earlier I got the impression that this saloon is rather large," Dove asked, causing Doc to cough and clear his throat.

"No, Al has employees to uh, cover for her position. The Gem is a large establishment that's popular among the prospector's and the like," He replied, downing more ale to both clear his throat and calm his nerves.

"Does my Uncle have someone to care for him? Father said that he was an unmarried bachelor," She asked with concern evident in her features.

Doc couldn't help but chuckle at the graciousness in which she described Deadwood's tyrant; unmarried bachelor indeed….

"He has employees at his beck and call day and night, I'm sure that he'll be fine until I return tomorrow morning to look in on Trixie. He's used to…. Being on his own for the most part," Doc assured her.

"They seem so unalike; Father and Uncle Al… and yet they were identical," Dove mused, a twinge of grief pulling at her heart anew as she thought of her beloved Father, cut down so suddenly right before her eyes….

"Lemmy was one of a kind," Doc agreed, recalling his breakdown during the war that Lemmy had pulled him through somehow….

"I haven't seen Uncle Al since I was a young child; I don't remember much about him." She confessed sheepishly.

"He's…..very different from Lemmy, but he has his good points too I suppose." Doc surmised, thinking of how viciously he had defended her to Dan and Johnny.

When they had finished dinner, Doc looked over the way Dove had organized everything with satisfaction. He recognized some of Lemmy's habits in her work and neat precision as he saw the way she had reorganized his medical text library and his medicinal herbs and tinctures.

"Did you ever assist your Father in his practice? Caring for and treating patients I mean?" He asked curiously.

"Yes." She replied softly, as though afraid of what his reaction might be.

Was she tarnishing her Father's memory with such a revelation? Would Doc suddenly think less of his friend and comrade?

"I thought as much," Doc replied thoughtfully.

He left her to her own devices afterwards, retiring to his room to give her some measure of privacy. He was exhausted as he removed his boots and changed into his night clothes, climbing beneath his covers gratefully.

Dove retired to her cot, wishing wholeheartedly that she could remove the brace from her leg. She recalled how her Father had once told her that Doctors made the worst patients, thinking that this applied to her completely. She had no patience with herself when she was ill, and she wasn't sure that she could keep from losing her mind confined there.

She awoke sometime later in confusion, some part of her internally aware that it was too early to be awake; digging her Father's pocket watch out of the bedside table and squinting at the time before nearly dropping it as a keening scream rent the air from the next room.

Dove stumbled out of bed and snatched her crutch up from the floor, no time to allocate for the stool as she hobbled to Doc's room shakily, relieved that the door was unlocked. She squinted in the semi darkness, frowning when she saw him thrashing in the bed in his sleep.

"Doc?" She asked hesitantly as a scream rent the air once again and he nearly toppled out of bed.

She moved forward as swiftly as she could and sat at the edge of the bed as she shook his shoulder gently, but firmly.

"Doc, wake up." She murmured softly.

He sprung into a sitting position with a shout, eyes wide and nearly unseeing as he gasped for breath.

Dove kept her hand on his shoulder to steady him, and as his eyes met hers realization and shame were reflected there.

"It's okay, Father had them too. I have them at times as well, though not from the war obviously." She told him softly as he reached for his spectacles and placed them shakily on his nose.

"I'm sorry to have woke you. Go back to sleep," Doc said apologetically, swinging his legs over the opposite side of the bed and rising stiffly.

"Where are you off to?" She asked as she stood and faced him slowly, her leg protesting slightly.

"I need some tea," He replied, pulling a thick dressing gown around him.

"I have some in one of my cases that should help," She said, exiting the room ahead of him with a loping gait to put the kettle on.

"I don't want to put you out like this, one of us should get some proper rest tonight." He told her, looking embarrassed for having woke her.

"A man should never have to make his own tea when he's troubled," Dove admonished, shooing him into a chair as she made her way to her trunks.

It didn't take her long to find the cannister she was looking for; she always kept this particular blend of tea on hand for her and her Father.

"This is a blend that I make myself; hand-pick the leaves, herbs, and flowers myself every spring and summer." She explained, opening the cannister of fragrant tea for him to see as she added a generous amount to the pot to steep.  
"What do you have nightmares about? If you don't mind me asking," Doc asked as she sat across from him at the table.

Dove sighed and studied the tabletop for a moment in silence, and Doc was nearly ready to apologize for offending her with the question when she looked up with a sad smile.

"My Father roamed around the wilderness for some time after the war, he told me that he wanted to be in peace and quiet for a while and was avoiding populated areas in favor of the solitude forests provided him. One day, he was collecting water by a stream when a young Indian boy stumbled towards the stream from out of the surrounding brush. Father could tell instantly that the boy was ill; he was sweating profusely and looked as though he were about to faint. The boy looked fearful because he had always been warned that white men were dangerous, but Father managed to show him that he was unarmed and wanted to help him. The boy was gesturing madly at his leg and after a quick examination, Father found that he had been bitten by a snake. The bite was thankfully fresh enough that he was able to draw out the venom and help the boy back to his tribal lands. The Sioux were angry with the boy for leading a white man to their land, but he quickly explained how Father had saved his life. The boy was my Mother's younger brother, and they were the children of the Chief. Father was invited to a feast that night, partially to thank The Creator for sparing my young Uncle's life and partially in honor of my Father for helping to save him. My Grandfather, The Chief knew some English from dealings in the past with calvary men and the like and offered him to stay with the tribe when he found out that Father lived in the forest. Grandfather told him that he had a vision of him as an Indian; he said that his spirit was free like the Indians were, and Father decided to stay because he was so curious about their culture and their way of life. My Mother was just a bit younger than I am now," Dove said, pouring tea out for each of them and stirring thoughtfully.

"Yes, that sounds like the Lemmy I remember," Doc replied softly, an ache in his chest for the friend he had lost before he could even renew their friendship.

"My Mother was very curious about Father too, she hadn't had any dealings with white men before because it was forbidden for her safety; my Grandmother had been kidnapped and killed, so Grandfather was very protective of his children. Mother had asked permission to learn English from Father and Grandfather agreed reluctantly at first because he was afraid that it would encourage her to socialize with people who may be dangerous, but as time went on, they grew closer and as you know, eventually married. For the first six years of my life, we lived with my tribe and both Mother and I spoke English and Lakota fluently. Father was very well respected and considered a healer among the Tribe, he worked closely with the Shamans to learn about natural herbs and tree barks and their healing properties. Then one day, there was a calvary raid of some sort; a dispute over territory had gotten out of hand and at least one hundred men rode onto our land with guns and canons and rifles. Mother and I ran and hid in an abandoned bear den until the shooting and canon fire stopped and the sun went down; we were both terrified. I remember wondering if Father and Grandfather and my Uncle had been killed or injured, I kept begging Mother to go back and help. I didn't care if I died, I just wanted to run to them and help them, even though there was nothing that a six-year-old girl could do. It was the waiting, the useless feeling that sitting there had created that was driving me crazy," Dove confessed, swallowing thickly.

"I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you," Doc said earnestly.

Dove shuddered and wrapped both of her hands around her hot cup of tea, propriety be damned.

"I just remember the gunfire and canon blasts and the screaming and crying. Mother tried to cover my ears from most of it, but it was so loud that I still heard." She murmured, her eyes haunted and glistening with unshed tears.

Doc handed her a handkerchief and she gave him a small watery smile.

"There was a full moon that night to light our way, and when we returned I was so confused at first because even through the smoke, I could see bodies lying in the grass and I was wondering why the grass was so shiny and black. Mother held me close to her with shaking hands as we waded through the smoke in search of anyone living. I remember crying out when I saw one of the girls I used to play with, she was around my age and we trod through her blood in the dark; the entire front of her dress was soaked with blood. We were so relieved when we found Father alive and tending to the wounded, he had been grazed by bullets in three places, but he was alive and that's more than we could have hoped for the night. My Uncle, two of the Shamans, fifty-three men and women, and twenty-six children were dead. Cut down by calvary men like wheat," She sniffed, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks as she recalled that terrible night.

"Oh God Dove, I'm so very sorry." Doc choked out around the lump in his throat.

Where was the honor in killing women and children? What was the sense of it?

"It's nothing for you to apologize for," She murmured with a shrug, attempting to compose herself.

"Well somebody should apologize for it Goddamn it, not that it could fix anything, but at least it'd be something!" He exclaimed, at a loss for words.

"Well, after that Grandfather asked Father to take us and leave the Tribe. He said that he feared that it wasn't safe; that the white man didn't honor peace between us, and they were poisoned with greed. Father took us away then and opened a small practice, but Mother and I could rarely leave the house and no one in the town would sell her anything or even speak to her. Father had to do the shopping and dealings in town and his patients were sometimes few and far between. We moved from town to town many times until he settled us somewhere a bit more accepting, but I know that my presence will bring you trouble here. I know what people will think of me; that I'm a savage, not worth anything more than the price of an Indian scalp." Dove sniffed; a pleading look in her eyes as though she were begging him to just get rid of her somehow.

Doc's eyes bored into her own and he reached across the table for her hand with purpose in his eyes, and whether it was his long-lost brotherhood and camaraderie with Lemmy or the fact that this poor haunted young woman had described in detail mirrored images of his own nightmares he wasn't sure. He was only sure that he would protect her from harm if it took his last breath.

"Nobody here is going to lay a hand on you, Dove. Your Uncle and I will make sure of that," He assured her solemnly.

She hesitated only momentarily before she squeezed his hand softly with a smile, watching as the tea worked its magic and his eyelids grew heavy.

"You should try to rest for a little longer before you have to call on Uncle Al and Trixie again," She told him, almost regretful that they couldn't talk longer.

As Doc returned to his room and she returned to her cot, she wondered why she felt some sort of pull or connection to him.

True, he had saved her life and nursed her back to health. He was a gentleman to a fault, and her Father had told her many stories about their time in the war; so much so that she felt as though she had known him without even having met him.

Dove drifted off to sleep once more, the last thought in her head that the haunting sadness in his eyes seemed to directly mirror her own…


End file.
